


£>©EU: 



COMEDY DRAMA 



IN 



THREE ACTS 



DODY: 



)A(- 



COMEDY DRAMA, 



THREE ACTS, 



9 /. 



ROBEBT IE. MORBISOH. 



[Copyright 1887.] 



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vcwncikiy llet^Otl CC i 






THEOPHILUS JONES PEMBERT< )X . A Farmer. 

SALLY ANN PEMBERTON, which was a Smith, his Wife. 
ISABELLA CLAYTON, A friend of the Pembertons. 

MOONEY, A Gypsy Hag. 

HUGH VERNON, A Villain. 

CAPT. SNOOKS, A Sea Captain, in Highs Power. 

ROBERT PIERSON, A Gentleman. 

DODY, The Village Idiot. 

Constables, Etc. 



Copyright 1887 by Robert E. Morrison. 



DODY : A COMEDY DRAMA. 



ACT I— Scene : Home of the Pembertons. 
Sally — Theophilus Jones Pemberton, I am going to write a book 

Of poems. 

Theophilus — A book of poems, laws, Sally, who will be fool 
enough to read 'em, kindah. 

Sally — Who'll read 'em, why, lots of folks; I am descended from 
a literatur family, and you don't catch me hiding my tallows under 
a peck measure. 

THEOPHILUS — More taller, kindah, than anything else. T am 
afeard on, Sally. 

Sally — (Dreamily) And after I've writ my book, and a myrtle 
wreath is resting on my dulcet tresses, with a raven voice I will cry, 
these honors are alone for thee, Thoppy, my own, my quince. 

Theophilus — (Snoring). 

Sally — Land a goshen, I believe the man is asleep. Wake, my 
liege, gaze with pride on Sally Jones Pemberton, which was a Smith, 
the poemess. 

Theophilus — (Waking) That ere poem is mighty restin', Sally, 
specially the last 49 werses, but wouldn't it be better to have written 
them in short meter, kindah. 

Sally — They be short meter, only 69 werses. They begin thusly: 
" The' sun through the clouds was a bustin golden, 
A bird in his hand a child was holden, 
With a bolden, holden golden — " 

Theophilus — Very pretty sentiment, but what is the senseof a 
bolden, a golden and a holden. But save the rest for the next part- 
ner of your joys and poems. 

Sally — Well, I do wish there was sonic one here who could dcpre 
ciate genius. 

Thkopiiiu's — Do you. Well, so do 1, kindah. Sally, what do 
you suppose I got from Bosting to-day ? 

Sally — Oh, that cute little work, Worcester's Dictionary. 

Theophilus— No, sally ; a letter. 

Sally — From where; let me see il. 

Tiieoi'iiili's — From Bosting town, kindah. (Hands Sally letter.) 

Sally reads — 

My Dear Mr. and Mrs. Pemberton ; Uncle sails for Europe to-mor- 
row, and he suggested thai I write you and ask if it would be con- 
venient for you to allow me to spend the summer at your charming 
borne ; I am willing to pay a good round sum for the privileges I 
should enjoy iii the country, and dear Aunt Sally, if you will allow 
me to call you auntie, do forgive me for making fun of your challi 
delaine, when you visited at our house five years ago ; that is a dear. 
ffOOd soul. 



Sally — No, Thoppy, she can't come ; why the little minks she 
poked fun at my challi delaine gown, and larfed right in my face, 
the little upstart ; but let us see what more she's got to say for her- 
self, "lam not so strong as usual this summer, and the doctor 
thinks the country air would be much better for me than a sea voy- 
age." 

Sally — The blessed little lamb, the poor weak little critter ; of 
course, she can come, Thoppy. You gather a big bunch of pepper- 
mint down at the spring and some boneset from the meader, and 
while you are about it get some pennyroyal over on the sidehill and 
I'll send that girl back to Bosting plump as a partridge and rosy 
as a comet, and I'll read my poems to her. 

Theo. — O gosh ! Poor child. 

Sally — What are you saying ? 

Theo. — Nothing ; only it would be nice for the child, kindah. 

Sally — Of course it will ; but my lands! Look when the letter is 
dated — June the 8th ; let us read the rest of it : 

'*Tf I hear nothing to the contrary will be with you the evening of 
the 8th." 

Theo. — The 8th, why that is to-day, kindah; I forgot all aboul 
that letter. I have had it in my pocket 24 hours, kindah. 

Sally — So it be ; hurry and hitch up Old Plumbob and set down 
to the station, for she'll be there within an hour, while I go ami dust 
the front chamber. 

Exit Sally. 

Theo. — My, but that woman has got a big heart ; (groans) if she 
only would write poetry, kindah. 

Exit. 
Enter Hugh Vernon and Capt. Snooks. 

Hugh — Come along, Captain, there don't seem to be anyone at 
home; probably all gone to town, so take the rocker and give me 
your history for the last ten years. 

Captain — Well, this is a snug little harbor, and I don't mind tell- 
ing you, but it makes me terribly dry to talk; I wish we could find a 
little suthin' to wet our whistles. 

Hugh — It is hardly an hour since you drank last; but, wait, I have 
an idea that there is something drinkable on yonder sideboard. 

Captain — And if there is we may feel as though we had been led 
by the spirits. 

Hugh — Or to them, for here is as tine a bottle of wine as I have 
seen in many a day. 

Captain — Shiver my timbers, that is an advintage; it will help 
me talk. *» 

Hugh — Well, go on. 

Captain — Hugh Vernon, I done your bidding; it was your wish 
that your murdered half brother's children should be gotten rid of. 

Hugh— Yes. 

Enter Mooney at rear of stage. She crouches near the door and listens 

intently. 

Captain— So that you might get the property? 
Hugh — Well, you got rid of them by throwing them into the ocean 
when on your way to this country, did you not? 



Captain — Not in the way we thoughl of, for ;i regular sou'wester 

came up and saved me the trouble, scattering the crew and sending 

all except me and the mate to Davy Jones' loeker. All, I see it now. 
(Tableau). Look, Hugh, look. Ah, it is gone. 

Hugh — I see nothing, fool; yon are dreaming. The ship, what lie 
came of her? 

Captain — Went to the bottom; she couldn'1 live in such a sea. 

HUGH — Thank heaven, the property is mine; but there may have 
been a chance of their having been rescued. 

Captain — I tell you no chance. 

HUGH — But you and the mate were saved. 

CAPTAIN — Yes, for during' the confusion we loosened the life boal 
and made away in her; twenty-four hours after we were picked up 
by a craft and landed in New York. 

HUGH — Well, 1 am glad those children are dead; my mission as far 
as they are concerned is ended; 1 knew that you would not return to 
England, so I came to America and have found you. 1 now desire in 
use you in another little job I have in mind. 

Captain — Hugh, I will not; you sail your way and let me sail 
mine. 

HUGH — Don't be squeamish, murderer of my dear step-brother; ah, 
that makes you change color; do my bidding and your neck shall es- 
cape a halter. 

Captain — For God sake. Hugh, be quiet. 

HUGH — Oh, von are coming to your senses, are you. (Aside.) The 
fool thinks he killed him. Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! 

.Moonky — Oh, kind Heaven, give me patience but a little longer. 

CAPTAIN (discovering Mooney.) — What have we here, a listener ? 

HUGH — Heavens, no; (seizes Mooney and drags her to the centre 
of stage ) Woman, what have you heard, speak. 

Enter Sally. 

Sally — Leave her go ; ain't you ashamed to lay your hands on a 
woman To whom be I inducted for this visit ? 

Hugh — Madam, allow me to introduce Captain Snooks to you. 
Also your most humble servant, Hugh Vernon. We crave pardon, 
but seeing your door SO hospitably open and being very tired after a 
long journey, we availed ourselves of your comfortable chairs and et 
cetera. 

SALLY — To the comfortables chairs yon were welcome ; also to the 
el celery, if that is your foreign name for wine, fori have a good 
many bottles of it in the cellar. O but you arc strange guests to have 
the manners and speech of gentlemen and assault this poor Mooney. 

HUGH — Come, Captain, I see we have intruded ; allow us to bid 
yourself and friend — ha, ha ; good-day. 

Exit Cajifoiii and IlngJi. 

.Mooney — And I too must go. 

Sally — No, wail and I will make you a cup of tea and get you a 
bite to eat. 

Moonky — Woman, are you crazy; invite .Mooney, the gypsy hag, 
to your table; no, I thank you, but I must go my way. 

Exit Mooney. 



Sally— It do beat all whore Thoppiy do stay; it is nigh onto 1 
o'clock, and that critter not come home yet; he's getting rather giddy , 
Thoppy is. a trampin' to the village so much. If he don't come soon 
1 will go abstracted. Oh, hi, ho, there they be comin' up the lane 
this blessed minute; I must look happy, for if there is anything 1 like 
to see it is a cheerful woman when the old man and the children do 
conic home. (Sings Broad is the Road that Leads to Death.) 

Enter Thoppy and Isabelle. 

Thop— Well, we are here; what is the matter, Sally, too much 
poems, kindah? 

Sally— How do you do Isabelle? How be you (kisses her) any 
way; be you well, or be you all tired out? 

Isabelle — Not very tired, auntie, and feeling first rate; I believe 
the country has benefitted me already. 

Tiiop— What were you crying about, Sally? 

Sally— You hush up, Thoppy; 1 ain't crying, I was only a little 
narvous with having so many strange guests; why. it has been a 
regular deception day with me. 

[sabelle — Why, who has been here, auntie? 

SALLY — A man who calls hisself Hugh Vernon, and another one 
ns calls hisself Capt. Snooks. 
Tiiop — Who be dem, kindah? 

Isaiselle— Hugh Vernon; what, a tall, dark complexioned man, 
with side whiskers and a lovely black moustache? 
Sally — Do you know him? 

[SABELLE — Know him. why yes; I met him quite often in Boston; 
he is a friend of mine. 

Sally — Well, then, I don't think much of your friend. 
Tiiop — Then you had better not have anything to do with him, 
Isabelle, for, let," Sally get her two big eyes on a man and she reads 
his character like a book, kindah. 
Sally — Mooney was here, too. 
[sabelle— Who is Mooney? What a queer name. 
Sally — A gypsy hag who has been about these parts nigh onto two 
years. 

THOP — Well, you have had queer guests, but I be blamed if 1 
didn't see the queerest one when 1 was a comin' through that piece of 
woods just t'other side of the meader; who should I see but that dat'l 
feller they call Dody, with his hair hanging over his face, kindah, 
and in his eyes such a hunted look that it struck to my heart, 1ml 
when I spoke to,hiin he ran and hid hisself in the woods, kindah. 
Isabelle — Poor fellow, 1 am so sorry for him. 
Sally — Well, Thoppy Quince, we must manage to draw him from 
his deluded retreat and try to make the poor boy feel that he has 
friends in us. 

Thop — Boy, why Sally, he is a man grown, kindah, and must be 
well-nigh onto 30 years. 

Sally — Yes, Thoppy, a man in statue, but a boy in his intellec- 
tual rapacity. 
Tiiop — May be ; but we must help the poor boy, kindah. 
[SABELLE — 1 wish that I might help him also. 



Sally — Speaking of angels, stars and garters, Thoppy, it' here 

don't come. Dody. poor soul, and lie is coming in here," too. (To 
Dody) conic right in, Dody. 
Dody — I thought 

Sally— Thought, but yon mustn't think ; it is loo much thought 

lias made you daft. 

Dody — Then if 1 mustn't think, may L sing. 

Sally — Why, yes. Dody, sing tor us. 

When the moon beams o'er the sea 
And the owl hoots in the tree, 
While the birds sleep in their nest, 
For poor me there is no rest. 

And voices call from Mower, shrub and tree. 
Dody, Dody, Dody, come here to me. 
Go where I will, where e'er I be, 
Voices ever call to me, 
Dody, Dody, Dody! 

Thop— Why didn't you let him talk, lie makes the cold shivers 
run down my hack, kindah. 

IsABELLE — Oh, I am so frightened, uncle; is he crazy'.' Tell him 
lo go away. 

SALLY — He is only a little techel; he won't harm nobody. 

Dody — Harm, why no, sweet girl, even the birds come when 1 call, 
and the squirrels chatter at my side; they all know Dody, ha, ha. ha, 
they all know Dody. 

THOP — Well, I am going to lied; 1 he all tired out; Dody. you can 
stay and visit with the women folks. 

Exit up stairs. 

Dody — A fiend must have passed this way; there is a smell of sul- 
phur in the air. 

Sally — Yes, there were two of them, Dody; one called hisself 
('apt. Snooks and t'other called hisself Hugh Vernon. 

Dody — Hugh Vernon, my step-uncle, the cause of all my misery, 
in this place? A.nd I believe him the murderer of my father! The 
air is stifling! Oh, my God, am I dying! No, no, I will live to find 
my sister and avenge my father's death! Ah, I have frightened you 
ali. 'Tis nothing, ha, ha, ha; I will go, go. 

Sally — Stay, Doily, stay; you are not well; you seem to have 
hilarious fever. You can sleep in the hack chamber like a Christian, 
and not roam through the woods like a chimpanzee. 

Dody — No, no, I must go; the voices are calling. (To Sally.) lint 
I love you. 

Dody — Hush, what if Thoppy should hear you. Dody, you 
musn't talk to me like that; 1 am a married woman, and il is awful 
to love a married woman. If you want to love some one, you might 
love Isahelle, ha, ha. 

Dody — Hark, the voices are calling Dody, Dody. 

[SABELLE — If you must go take this cloak; the night air is very 
chill. (Puts cloak about him.) 

Dody — Thank you; I must go, I must go and rind my sister. 
Exit, singing. 

[gABELLE — Oh, auntie, I feel so sorry for that poor man. II he 
were one of mine 1 would rather he were dead than like that. 



Sally — Well, I allow it is bad, but don't be worrying and stewing 
about it, but fetch along that bowl of pennyroyal tea and get to bed. 

Exit. 

Isabelle — (Looking out of window) Ah, poor fellow, wherever 
you are, God pity you. Good night, good night. 

Exit. 

Enter through icindow, Hugh and Snooks, drunk. 

Hugh — Come right (hie) in, captain, you are drunk; I am all right, 
only a little sleepy. 

Captain — Of all the ships I ever did see, of all the ships I ever did 
see, there is none like Nancy Lee. (Catches hold of sideboard.) How 
are you old fellow; I am right. (Falls across couch, and Hugh falls 
in chair.) 

Dody — (At window) Devil. 

Curtain. 



ACT II— Scene : Edgewood Forest in Autumn. 

Enter Pierson. 

( )h, what a fool I have been to allow this letter to destroy my hap- 
piness and to rob me of the love of my sweet, winsome Jessie. In 
my heart I know that she is innocent of the libel Hugh Vernon has 
put on her fair name. 

Enter Hugh, listening. 

If I should meet him here I could strangle him. 

Hugh — I am at your service, Robert Pierson, whenever you get 
ready to do the strangling business. 

Pierson — In heaven's name, Hugh Vernon, retract what you have 
written in this letter. 

Hugh — Bah, retract; no, and, furthermore, I tell you (whisper). 

Pierson — Liar, it is false; take back what you have said or I will 
break every bone in your miserable, cowardly body. 

Hugh — Give me that letter. (Snatches letter from Pierson). 

Pierson — Hugh Vernon, you shall rue these insults. The letter 
belongs to me. 

Hugh — Fool, yon do not get this letter unless you take it from my 
dead body. It is mine. 

Erfter Mooney. Takes letter from Hugh. 

Mooney — No, gentlemen, it is mine. 

Pierson — Woman, give me the letter; it is in regard to one whom 
I tenderly love, and for whom I am searching. I have reason to be- 
lieve she'is in this country; perhaps you have seen her about these 
parts? 

Mooney — Her name. 

Pierson — Jessie Belmont. 

Hugh — (Aside) She is in a fairer clime than this according to all 
accounts. 



Mooney — And you, you love this nirl? (To Pierson). 

Pierson — Aye, devotedly. 

Mooney — And believe naught againsl her? 

Pierson— Nothing. 

Hugh— (Aside) How could he, against so sweet an angel. 

Mooney — Man, why mutter you; begone. 

1 Ii<: ii — Woman, who are you, that dare order me off pari of my 

estate? 

Mooney— I am Mooney, the gypsy bag, and this is my domin- 
ion. Go! 

Hugh — You miserable hag, I don't want to bandy words with 
such as you. I'll go of my own accord. 

Exit Hugh. 

Mooney — Robert Pierson, let me keep this letter until to-morrow. 
At sunset I will send tried friends to conduct yon to my cave in the 
mountains. Do not leave your hotel under any consideration until I 
send for you, and beware of Hugh Vernon; he is a man to fear. 

Pierson — I cannot express my gratitude to you for your words of 
hope; but, take this as a small token of my thanks. 

MOONEY — (Taking purse) Now go; I would be alone. Do not 
speak, but go. 

Exit Pierson. Enter Dody. 

.Mooney — (Hurriedly) Dody, follow that man; do not let him gel 
out of Your sight until he arrives at the hotel, then return and report 
to ni(3 here. 

Dody — Oh, I'll follow him like a dog; nothing escapes Dody, 
nothing escapes Dody, ha, ha. 

Exit Dody. 

Mooney — To-morrow night the gypsy hag will be no more, and 
Jessie Belmont takes her place; then this miserable masquerading 
ceases. Robert is in the village, he loves me and believes in me. 
Oli, how happy I am in his love. All things are working together 
for good. Hugh Vernon is here, and justice shall be meted out to 
him to-morrow night. Oh, if 1 could find my brother George I 
should be supremely happy. I cannot believe that he was lost on 
that terrible night, when the ship went down. Something here tells 
me that he lives, and that I shall find him. 

Enter Dody. 

Dody — I followed him; he is safe at the hotel, and I'll watch that 
place all through the night. (Aside.) Hugh Vernon don't get near 
Robert Pierson while Dody is in town; no, no, not while Dody is in 
town. 

Mooney — I will ask him. Dody, try and think; try hard, now. 
Since you have been in these parts have you seen or heard of any 
one who bears the name of George Belmont? 

Dody - — Woman, why do you ask me this question? How can it 
Interest you? 

Mooney — 1 would find him; I have news of his sister. 

Dody — News of his sister! What do you mean? In heaven's 
name, speak; tell me more! Where is she? 

Mooney — Dody, she is speaking to vou now. 
2 



10 

Dody— Great heavens! That voice! Can it be my .sister? 

Mooney — Your sister! Oh, do not mock me! Is it indeed George, 
my brother, my dear, dear brother? (Falls into his arms.) 

Dody — You tremble; come, sit down. Oh, this is happiness in- 
deed; but, tell me, why are you thus disguised? Oh. tell me what 
has been your fate during these long years of separation? 

Mooney — I scarcely know where to begin. You remember, in 
childhood's days, in sweet merrie old England, how we prattled 
about our sainted mother's knee, or wandered knee deep in the but 
ter cups of the meadow, and plucked the yellow blossoms to weave a 
wreath to crown our sainted mother? Oh. how happy were those 
days, until cruel death called away our darling. Ah, then, indeed, 
we were alone. Twas then Hugh Vernon came, and, in his greed 
for wealth, consigned us, his step-brother's children, to death, and a 
watery grave in the Atlantic, but we were saved by a hand more 
powerful than his. The ship went down in a terrific storm, and 
then all was blank until I awoke from the delirium of fever in the 
house of kind friends, who tenderly educated and cared for me until 
reverses came. The father and mother passed away, and the family 
scattered. Then the yearning determination came to rind yon, and I 
said I will seek my brother, for I could not believe you dead; so, 
being a woman, to protect myself I assumed this disguise, and 1 
thank Him who doeth all things well that I have found you. But, 
come now, dear brother, tell me about yourself. 

Dody— Oh, that storm, that dreadful night! I remember the heavy 
sea striking the ship, a feeling of dread as the cold waters washed 
over me; I remember being dragged on a rude raft by sailors, and 
two days later being rescued by a passing vessel and landed in 
America. Well, I tried to do anything honest that my hands could 
rind to do. At last chance brought me to a school house, and by 
working in the garden and doing sundry little offices 1 was allowed 
my board and tuition, but, being impressed that you were living, 
and having great fear that my uncle would find me, I put on this dis- 
guise. But, some one is coming; do not forget yourself; remember, 
you are a gypsy hag. 

Exit Mooney R. ,.' E. Enter Isabelle. 

ISABELLE — (Calls) Dody. Dody, Dody. 
Dody — Here I am; here I am, ha, ha, ha. 
Enter R. 3 E. 

Isabelle — I thought you were hereabouts, for uncle Thop said 
you came this way only a few minutes ago, and, if I wanted wild 
flowers, to find and tell you, for you knew where they grew. 

Dody — Yes, »ody knows where all the flowers grow. 

Where the little violets peep, 

When they wake up from their sleep, 

As the golden lilies rise. 

Lift their chalice to the skies. 

Of this I know, of this 1 know. 

Yes, where all the flowers grow. 

But you look so strange, you look so scared; what is the matter? 
Isabelle — Oh. there is that horrible gypsy. Mooney, and she is 
coming this way. Oh. I shall run. 

Enter Mooney /.'. .' E. 



11 

Mooney — Don'l lie frightened, dear; Mooney would Dot harm a 
hair of your head, but nunc to my cave tomorrow al sunset, and. 
by the way, bring your friend, Hugh Vernon, along with you. and 
I will tell your fortune. 

[SABELLE — Yes. I will, for I always wanted my fortune told by a 
real gypsy. 

Moonky — At sunset, then, to-morrow night; remember. 

H.rii n. : /•;. 

Isabelle — Dody, you will come too, and have your fortune told. 

Donv — Dody will he there, Dody will he there, sure. 

[SABELLE — Before we search for the wild flowers will you sing 
for me'? 

Donv — Why, yes, Dody loves to sing; what shall it lie'.' 

[sabelle — Something about love. I'll imagine you a beautiful 
cavalier instead of a poor half-witted fellow; so begin, I'll listen. 

Dody — But. should I find my wits, yon will love me as you do the 
flowers? 

[SABELLE — How silly yon talk. Dody. If you find them — (Aside) 
No danger of that — I will. 

Dody — Then I will talk with the flowers and get them to help me 
find them, lint before searching I will sing. 

Isabelle — Do so. please. 

Donv sings. 

[sabelle lovely, [sabelle fair, 

Bmwn are thine eyes love, golden thine hair. 

With teeth of rarest pearls, 

Thou art the lovliest of girls, 

Lips which shame the rosebuds blush, 

Voice so sweet iloth still the thrush. 

Thou art so fair, so true, 

Sweetest blossom that ever grew. 

Isabelle wilt thou be mine. 

For my heart is truly thine, 

lie mine, be mine, sweet girl, 

Oh Isabelle my darling', be mine. 

[sabelle — You sing charmingly, Dody. I thank you for the 

pleasure you have afforded me. 

Dody — While affording you pleasure. I found something for 
which I was searching. 

[SABELLE — How Strangely he acts ami speaks. What (lid you 
find, Dody ? 
Dody— My wits. 
[sabelle — He surely is getting crazier every minute ; oh, my, what 

if he should become violent, and I alone with him here in this lonely 
place ; I must try and pacifv him ; bow strange his eves dilate. Oh. 
what shall I do. ' 

Dody — Do not be frightened, but listen while I confide my secret 
to you. I am not crazy. 

[SABELLE — Are — arc you quite sure ? 

Dody — Quite sure. But I am dead 

[SABELLE — Why that is worse than being crazy. Hut you arc a 
pretty lively spook. 

Dody — You did not permit me to finish my sentence. I am dead 
in love. 



12 

Isabelle — Head over heels in love would be a more elegant ex- 
pression. But with whom. What ? 

Dody — With a young lady not a thousand miles from here. 

Isabelle — Rather indefinite as regards space. But yet I think I 
know who the young lady is. 

Dody — Her name '? 

Isabelle — O, some one you have been conversing with lately. 

Dody — Yes, yes! Go on. 

Isabelle — And who is in this wood. 

Dody — On my life, I believe she knows ; yes, her name. 

Isabelle — Her name ; let me think. Her name is — is — Mooney. 

Dody — No, no! She is my sister. 

Rise*. 

Isabelle — Your sister! How strange ; pardon me, if I have 
wounded you. 

Dody — I forgot myself ; do not speak of this to any one ; trust me 
until to-morrow night and you shall know all. Will you do it ? 

Isabelle — Yes, Dody. I feel that I can trust you not only until 
to-morrow night, but as long as you desire I will keep your secret. 

Dody — And you will not, forget me wherever I may be called upon 
to go? 

Isabelle — Believe me, Dody. I will never forget you. 

Dody — And could you learn to love poor me, despite all social 
distinction? 

Isabelle — Love does not recognize such distinction. It gives 
itself without reserve to him who has won it. 

Snooks Enters at Rear and Listens. 

Dody — (Kissing her.) Thank you, darling, for these words, and 
you promise me love and constancy till death? 

Isabelle — I promise, and I will not be faithless to my vow. 

Dody — And, dearest, you shall never regret it. But come, we 
must return to the house for it is getting late ; do not forget lam only 
Dody until after to-morrow night. 

Exeunt. 

Snooks — Well, Hugh Vernon wants to keep his weather-eye open 
or Dody will be sailing off with that Boston craft, and if he should, 
ugh, wouldn't there be a squall. 

Hugh Enters. 

Hugh — Well, hEre you are! I have been looking for you. 

Snooks — And I for you. For I have got something to tell you. 

Hugh — Well, what about ? 

Snooks — Only about Dody and that pretty Boston craft. 

Hugh — Dody and Why, man, what do you mean? 

Snooks — Nothing, only he was making love to her. 

Hugh — Snooks, you lie; Dodj' making love to such a girl as Isa- 
belle Clayton; the idea, it is absurd. 

Snooks — Well, all I know is, as he was hugging her and telling 
her how he loved her, and he would build a cabin for her, and she 
looked up into his face purty as a picter (hie). But, of all the girls 



13 

I ever sec there is none like Nancy Lee. Yo lio, boys (hie)! Yo bo, 

boys (hie). 

HUGH — The devil; Snooks, you arc as drunk as a fool. 

Snooks — Tell you I ain'l only a little dizzy; lem me lean agin 
you a minute; I am all righl ; of all the girls I ever sec there is none 
like Nancy Lee (hie). 

Hugh — Come to your senses, fool. I've work for you to do. We 
must net rid of Dody this very night. (Aside) lie stands in my 
way. 

Snooks — All right, two for one; I am your man. 

Hugh — Now listen; he will return this way. we'll spring on him 
from behind these rocks. Taken unawares, we can easily manage 
him, throw him to the ground, gag, bind ami throw him into the 
lake. 

Snooks — All right, Hugh; I'll gag you. I'll bind you and I'll 
throw you in the lake; hut, of all the girls, &c. 

Hugh — Come along; I'll try and gel some sense in your miserable 
noddle, so that you will be of some use. 

Snooks — Right you are, Hugh (hie), but, of all the inrls I ever sec 
there is none like Nancy Lee. 

K.vil Snooks. 

HUGH — This Belmont has escaped me once, hut he shall not tin's 
time. 

Exit. Enter Sid!// mid TIiop. 

Sally — Thoppy, 1 wish you would stop that sighin'. 

Tiiop — Oh, Lord, Sally, I guess you would sigh, kindah. if you 
had to climb up the rocks for wintergreens, or hang and drop down 
in the glen twenty feel or more for sassafras, and have thorns and 
brambles tear your hands and clothes till there isn't a whole stitch 
on your hack, kindah. and sink in the muck of the swamp up to 
your waist looking for the dum snake root, kindah; [ guess' you'd 
sigh, dum it. 

Sally — Why, Theophilus Jones Pemberton, ain't you ashamed of 
yourself; you're a nice Methody, you he, you swore a swear. 

Tirol' — No, I ain't ashamed, and I don't care if I swore twenty 
thousand; I wish the whole neighborhood of children would die. 
kindah. 

Sally — Why. Thoppy, how you carry on. 

Tiioi' — I don't care; I wish the whole dummed lot of them would 
die; I'd yell glory hallelujah until my throat split, kindah. 

Saij.Y — Well, keep righl on until you are done, and I hope you'll 
feel better for it. 

Tiiop — I am goingto. I have had nothing to say for nigh onto 10 
years and I am going to have my say out for once ; there never was 
a baby come to this town at any seasonable hour, always after 12 
o'clock at night. I believe they all have a spite again mc. kindah ; 
then pa wants Auntie Pemberton to come over righl away, kinder ; 
then I gol to hitch up and tote you all over the neighborhood. Then 
they has the colic, kindah, and the measles and the whooping 
COUgh, kindah, and the scarlet fevers, and the Lord only knows 
what, kindah. Then it is gather herbs and dig toots until I am al 
most worried to death, kindah. 



14 

Sally — Theophilus Jones Pemberton, have yon run down al last? 
Don't your conscience strike you like ;i sledge hammer, for abusing 
the sweet little innocents of Smith Hollow for your wicious attatks 
upon these ethereal eherubimses. These dear little wenuses without 
wings, <>, man. if you have any heart, leave unsaid what you have 
said; throw the circumvolution spheroid spheradic upon nebulous 
vapors, clarified erratic in imagination, disintegration immigration, 
collation, quickly subdued enthused, infused into corallation with 
the sysmetic and anticipatorial of — will you do it? 

Thop — Anything; only don't throw the rest of the dictionary at 
me, kindah. 

SALLY — No; we'll go home, and to give you the rest you need I 
will read my poem to you. 

Thop— (Collapses.) Oh, gosh, kindah. 

Sally — Come along, Thoppy, it is getting dark. 

Thop — Sally, I want you to promise one thing ; it may be my la si 
request. Don't read your poems tome in my nervous stale. I am 
afraid I should die. kindah. 

Sally — Well, 1 never did ; Thop, I believe you need some catnip 
tea ; if I don't think so I'll never forgive you for using such con 
suiting language about my poems. But come, it is time you had 
your chores done. So come along. 

Thop — I am almost dead, kindah. 

SALLY — No you ain't. Thop; you are only a little bilious. 

Enter Dody. Exeunt. 

Dody — To-morrow night, and all will be well. So Edgewood 
Forests I must bid you adieu. Farewell, old tress, often have thy 
forms sheltered me from the winds, as they whistled and moaned 
through thy branches. Lying at thy base, screened from the rain 
by thy dense foliage, I have laughed at the storm and felt that thou 
ait indeed a friend. Decked in autumn's brilliancy thou art in- 
deed beautiful. Ye noble forms. I shall ne'er see you more, and a 
feeling akin to sadness comes o'er me as I say farewell. Now the 
moon throws her beams across my path, I will take it as an omen of 
future happiness. Well, bright Luna, one more dance ere I put on 
the full fetters of civilization. 

{Dunce*. Enter Hugh and Snooks during the dance and hide behind the 
rocks. At the conclusion of the dance they upring upon Dody.) 

Dody— Help! Help! 

Hugh — Too, late. You can't escape methistime. You are in my 
power; you die Find 1 am master of the Belmonl estate. Come, 
Snooks, over the cliff with him. 

(C'uftain. Tableau Dody rescued by Mooney.) 

ACT III.— Scene : Mooney's Cave. 

Enter Hugh and Isabel! e. 

Hugh — Here we are at Mooney's palace, and it is a most grue- 
some place. Were I superstitious I should make haste to leave il. 

ISABELLE — But you are not superstitious; so, having brave hearts 
and clear consciences, we will await with what patience we have the 
arrival of the gypsy queen. 



15 
Hugh— (Now for a bold move) Miss Clayton, [sabelle, if I may 

call you by thai sweet name, you musl have seen how I love jrou, 

thai thou art the star of my existence. I am rich, I have large es 
tates both in this country and in England, left me by a dear elder 
brothei, and all I want at my hearthstone to make my happiness 
complete is your sweet presence. Nay, darling, do not turn away 

your head; will you not he my wife'.' 

Isabelle — Oh, Mr. Vernon, it is so sudden; how nicely you talk; 
why, why don't you write a book? 

HUGH— Oh, do not he so heartless; if you only knew how I suffer. 

[SABELLE— Poor man, how sorry I am; if von don't feel better 
soon it would be well to stop at Aunt Sally's on your way home and 
gel her to give you a bowl of catnip tea. 

HUGH— You are cruel, hut I know your secret; you are in love. 

Isabelle— You know # my secret; lam in love; I thank you for 
the information. In love with whom, pray? 

Hugh— With Dody. 

Isabelle — Jealous of Dody. 

Hugh— Forgive me. What have I said? Dearest. I cannot live 
without you; come, he my own, my wife. 

HJ nier 'I hoy. 

' Thop — She'll never be your wife, but, probably, a sister to you, 
kindah. 

[sabelle— "Why, Uncle Thop, how you look. Where did you 
come from? 

Thop — Come from China, kindah. 

Is.viJELLF. — From China? 

Thop— Yes; you see, your Aunt Sally she wanted some Elcoin- 
pane root, and it must be digged by moonlight, so 1 went down to 
the swamp to dig it, kindah. Well, I gol on some sinking sand, or 
muck and I begin to sink, first up to my knees, then up to my 
waist, then to my chin; I think it was about time to gel out, kindah, 
for an old Chinaman named Come Downee pulled like a Celestial, 
so I braced my basket against the root of a bush and pulled like the 
deuce, got away from the old fellow, came here to have my fortune 
told while J rested, kindah. 

[sabelle— Uncle, 1 have something which I think will rest you 
exceedingly. 

Thop — What is it; a cruller, kindah? 

ISABELLE — No, one of Aunt Sally's poems. 

THOP — I didn't think you would have done it, Isabelle, strike a 
man with a poem when he is down. 

[sabelle— Uncle Thop, I am awfully sorry 1 said anything about 

poems. You'll forgive, won't you; that is a dear, good uncle. 

THOP — 1 guess I will, kindah. 

[sabelle — That is right. Mr. Vernon, why sit there moping? 
Come here, please, I wish to introduce you to my uncle, Thcophilus 
.Jones Pemberton; uncle, this is Mr. Vernon, my Boston friend. 

THOP — Howdy; be you well, kindah? 

HUGH — Thanks, awfully; quite well, and you? 

Thop — Almost dead, kindah, thankee. 



16 

[sabelle — Why, here comes Aunt Sally, and she has a roll of 
paper in her hand. 

Thop — Gosh, it is poems. (Crawls in the basket.) 
Enter Mooney. 

Sally — Why, Isabelle, are you here all alone. My, what a spooky 
plaee. 

[SABELLE — No. auntie, Mr. Vernon is here. 

SALLY — Where; I don't see nobody. 

Hugh — Here I am. 

Sally — How dy; I hope I see you in pernicious health. 

Huuii — Thanks; you are very kind. 

Sally— Isabelle, I have something to tell you; I am going to give 
up writin' poetry. 

Thop — Glory, hallelujah. 

Sally — I thought I heard my partner's voice, bill it must have 
been my immigration ; well, I have given up writing poems but I 
have been writing an epitaph for Thoppy. (Thoppy groans.) 

Isahelle — But auntie Uncle Thop is not dead. 

Sally — No matter he'll be dead some day. 

Thop — (Aside.) Big joke kindah. 

Sally — Well, here it is. 

Beneath this stone lies the body of Theophilus Jones Pembertou ; 
he is not in this hole only his pod ; he shelled out his soul and gone 
to his home. Awake my dear husband, it is Sally that speaks, he'll 
never wake no more, I place my hand on his cold, cold brow, and 
say, I'll meet you in heaven. 

Hugh — How very nice, I should think your husband would want 
to die immediately. 

Sally — I have just thought of one for you. 

Hugh— Well. 

Sally — This is it : " You'll rind it no joke when you dangle at the 
end of a rope." 

Hugh — Curse you, you ignorant old fool. 

[SABELLE — For shame, 

Thop— What, kindah ? 

Sally t — Oh Thoppy, Thoppy, quince, protect your little dove. 
Enter Mooney. 

Moonky — Lei all dissensions cease, while I unveil the past and re- 
veal the future. 

Sally* — Well, who is going to be the fust? 

Isabelle — You first, auntie. 

Sally — If you really consist, all right. 

[sablle — I read}' must insist. 

Sally — Y'ou mean consist, dear. Taken from the Latin you 
know; consisti, consisto, consistum. 

Isahelle — Consist then, auntie ; but Mooney is waiting. 

Mooney — Let me look ; ah, the line of life is clearly defined ; you 
will long enjoy life and its blessings. But here is a cross which im- 
plies it is to be enjoyed only under certain conditions, and these are 



17 

that you a it not to have your husband gather any mote roots and 

herbs, and you are not to write any more poems. 

Thoppy— Glory, E Pluribus Unum, Erin Go Brazil! Mooney. 
you are a brick, kindah. 

Sam.y — Stop this unseemly levitieus while I tell you why I took 
to writing poems. It was a beautiful summer day and the apples 
which 1 was a peelin' for sass threw their shining tendrils or 
peelins on the floor, and as I looked up from the apples which I was 
a parin'. who should I see standing at my side hut Longfellow, the 
poet, and says he : " Dip deep, Sally Jones Pemberton, into the fount 
of literature.'' But where is my conspiration to come fijom, says I, 
for I had read about the nine muses which come at the poet's beck 
and call ; they he here says lie in a snorous voice, and lands, if there 
didn't stand nine as pretty cats as I ever see. I told Thop about it, 
but he says it was a dream or nightmare. But if poems are going to 
put me in terror firmer before my time, I've write my last poem. 

Thop— Glory, glory! I feel as happy as a clam at high tide. 
kindah. 

Sally— Don't Vie making a jumping jack of yourself or I'll write 
another poem. 

Thop — Gosh, kindah. 

Crawls Back in tlie Basket. 

MoONEY— Let me look at your hand, young lady. 

Hugh— Mooney, tell her something nice, and 1 will pay you well. 

Moon ey— Great pleasures are in store for you. You are dearly be- 
loved by one not far from this place. 

Hugh— Darling, it is I. 

Thop — No ; it is me, kindah. 

Sai.i.y— Hain't you ashamed to say so, with your pardner good for 
forty years yet. 

MoONEY— The man you love and by whom you arc beloved owns 
large estates both in this country and in Europe. 

Thop— It is not me. 

Hugh— Love, just as I told you. How happy we shall be. 

Mooney— You will marry this man within a year; you were born 
under a lucky star, and all will be well. 

HroH— My darling, as I told you; how aptly this gypsy woman 
lias described my devotion to you, and she must indeed be a witch 
to know all about my estate. Come, my good woman, tell me a nice 
fortune also. 

MoONEY—1 can only tell what will come to pass, whether it be 
good or evil. 

Hugh— Proceed then. 

MoONEY— I see you as a child, a handsome lad. and with you one 
who seems to he, and yet is not, your brother. 

Hugh— Probably my dear step-brother, whom 1 tenderly loved, 
and whose memory 1 cherish. 

Mooney— Ah but you cherished something besides love for your 
sin. brother- but wait and I will tell. I see you grown to young 
mjm hood; this love had become so great that one night ten years 
aeo when your brother was returning from the chase. Ah. I see H 
now! It ia evening in Sherwood forest, a horse and rider arc pass 

3 



18 

in»- through the woods, a shadow is following them, the shadow of 
death; it springs on the rider's back, clutches him by the throat, 
drags him from the horse; now, by the light of the rising moon, I 
see your hand seize the heavy riding whip and strike him across the 
head with terrible force until lie is dead. 

Tableau. 

Hi mi — Vou lie. yon damned witch, you lie. 

Mooney — Do 1? I will call upon the dead to verify my state- 
ments. 

Hugh — The dead? 

Mooney — Aye, the dead, 

IsABELLE — She means Dody. 

Thoppy — Oh, Sally, say your prayers; I be all in a tremble: say 
now I lay me down, kindah. 

Sally — Isabelle, how can you lie so calm like? I am most fright 
encd out of my senses. 

Isabelle — Woman, would you spoil all; be quiet. 
Mooney — .lames Belmont, come forth. 

Enter Dody in Hunting Costume. 

TiiOP — Oh, murder. Sally; take hold of my hand, kindah; 1 want 
to go home. 

Mooney — Hugh Vernon, look on your step-brother. 

Sally — Oh, Dody, don't look so dreadful. 

HUGH — Dody; all, yes, I see it all now. Your game is a good 
one; it is a desperate one, but, as I killed the father, so I wilt kill 
the son. 

Dodv — Devil, come on, vengeance and justice give me the strength 
of a hundred men. 

(Dody finally overcomes him, throws him on the stage, holds hint down 
and puts his foot on his breast and says. ) 

Lie there, you snake, you viper, you murderer ; you made my 
childhood's days a hell upon earth, you blasted my home, you broke 
my mother's heart and robbed me of her love, and of a father's coun- 
sel. Qh less than human, oh worse than devil ; if you had not fallen 
I would take your miserable life. Murderer of my father, I c 

Isabelle — Dear George, 1 beseech you, listen to me. 

Dodv — Isabelle, jny angel, save, oh save me from myself. 

(Hugh crawls across stage back of Dody, and is about to stab him with 
a dagger ichcn Mooney arrests his hand. Dody has been talking with 
Isabelle during th*w time and unconscious of danger. Mooney motions 
to constables who take Hugh away.) 

Mooney — Arrest that man. Guard him closely, he is a murderer. 
Huon — Curse you. 

(Exeunt Constable and Hugh.) 

ISABELLE — Don't lie so downcast darling, every cloud has a silver 
lining. 

Dody — When I should be upholding you, you are supporting me 
by thy loving counsel. I now fully realize how little a man amounts 
to without a woman's sympathy and love. 
(Enter Pierson.) 



19 



PiKHsox-What has happened thai you all look so sober' 
-UooNKY— I will tell you to-morrow. 

of^r7° K ~ Can y ° U tCl1 " le ° f Wlm ' ^ P romised . «" y<- tell me 

MOONET— You love her then ? 

Pikkson— Ave, devotedly 
(i .Moc^v-Why. darling.- do you aol know me ? (Throwing aside 

Pieksox— Great heavens, my own sweetheart Jessie 

D °?y— Now thatlove is chasing away the shadow, we feel ti.,t 
our kind friends will wish us all happiness and ', i , „ ' ' 

lun.re may be as bright as the pas, his been dariS elided 

lik^XaSy L^^''^"^ alIthe gids ' em we ' {h ^ ia "«»•■ 



CURTAIN'. 



